


break you down, fill you up

by MoMoMomma



Series: Kinktober 2018 [27]
Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Anal Fingering, Double Penetration, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 07:28:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16445453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoMoMomma/pseuds/MoMoMomma
Summary: “I’d been tempted to call your sin Wrath,” John snarls, dragging his attention back by force, eyes dipping and holding for a split second on Rook’s lap. “But I see now I was wrong. Partially. Maybe. There is Wrath in you but Lust lives inside your soul.”





	break you down, fill you up

Rook knows why Joseph’s here. He’s heard the whispers, rumors from the mouths of desperate people focusing on anything that isn’t John’s insane techniques behind getting his confessions. The Father will come and watch. Pass judgment alongside his brother. 

That’s not the reason why he’s standing across from Rook, arms crossed and brow down low. John’s off to the side, fumbling with something. He’s been strung tight since Joseph arrived, waving away anyone else, just them and the smell of blood in the air and Rook’s mind sharpened to a point. 

He’s _nervous_.

“You know,” Rook lets his head loll, the picture perfect of someone _bored_ with the whole debacle. “You’d get confessions easier if you were less of an asshole. Little more honey with the vinegar. I thought Jacob was the mean one.”

“You can dodge all you want.” John’s voice is sharp but there’s something there, something that makes his hands shake as he appears in front of him, hands gripping sweat slick against the remnants of Rook’s shirt. “Avoid the point. It means _nothing_. You will confess, just as so many before you have.”

“You might have an easier time of it if you’re nice to me.”

John scowls, something breaking and going dark behind his eyes. Rook braces himself for a punch, a shake, maybe even the dull-sharp point of a knife sharpener jabbed into his sternum. 

What he gets, instead, is a look of fear flashing across John’s face as Joseph murmurs a quiet warning of his name. 

Rook tips his head, ignores John for the moment to look past him. It annoys him, he can see that in his peripheral, ever the attention-seeking younger brother. Joseph meets his gaze steadily, evenly, placid face revealing nothing.

“What’s your lot in this? Is it some weird tandem thing? Voyeurs and exhibitionists make the best of friends, so I’ve been told.” Rook snorts. “Does that mean Faith and Jacob are a team too?”

He whistles low, sees Joseph crack for a split second as John’s hands crank tighter in the fabric. 

“Now _that_ would be one hell of a sandwich to find myself the filling of. Sign me up. I’d even take the Bliss if it meant getting a chance at that.”

“Careful,” Joseph murmurs, but it’s not directed at him. 

Or maybe it is. Rook’s a bit woozy from blood loss and exhaustion and he’s actually, amusingly, getting hard at the thought. Women have never been his thing but Faith is pretty, delicate in ways that make him want to help her out. By whatever means she wants. It’s her whole gimmick, helpless little thing in a white dress, but Rook’s gotta give it to her; it _works_. 

Of course, the opposite would work just as well. Rook’s surprisingly honest with himself; the Seeds, as a whole, are pretty hot. He’d be alright with any sort of pairing they decided to throw at him.

Equal opportunity slut when it comes to them, apparently. 

“I’d been tempted to call your sin Wrath,” John snarls, dragging his attention back by force, eyes dipping and holding for a split second on Rook’s lap. “But I see now I was wrong. Partially. Maybe. There is Wrath in you but Lust lives inside your soul.”

“Lust lives inside most people, to be fair.” Rook can’t help but point out. “A good percent of the population wanna fuck something. And, I’m sorry, but _you’re_ going to lecture me on Lust? You two?”

He shakes his head, rolling his eyes, presenting the picture of a bored and insubordinate captive. 

“Mr. I have it carved in the most _obvious_ spot and Mr. hookers and blow are how I got through college?” John makes a noise deep in his chest, affronted, like Rook smacked him. “Yeah, forgive me if I feel like you shouldn’t be casting stones.”

“We all have our sins.” Joseph moves then, advancing, probably seeing the rage in the tightness of John’s shoulders, striding until he can hover at Rook’s side. “We do not pretend we don’t. There is little point in preaching to the masses as though we are above it all.”

“Isn’t that the point of confession then? Release of all those sins.” Rook grins up at him around blood-stained teeth, the copper taste lingering from one of John’s earlier punches. “I could use a little release, if we’re being honest here.”

Really, the way John looks at Joseph then--pleading without his words, hands loosening ever so slightly in Rook’s shirt, touching instead of grabbing--should have been enough warning. But Rook’s never been particularly good at seeing warning signs until it’s too late.

.O.

“Gentle,” it’s breathed out against Rook’s temple but he doesn’t bother lifting his head, knowing Joseph’s not talking to him. “Be easy.”

“You think he deserves _easy_?”

But John complies because what else is he going to do? Disobey big brother’s direct order? Rook grins, hidden with his forehead tipped to Joseph’s surprisingly broad shoulder, hands flexing on Joseph’s forearms as John’s ministrations become more pointed. Focused. Gentle, he supposes, but only in the very loosest definition of the term. 

Though there’s enough lube, dragged from somewhere hidden--which had made Rook smirk and John snap red-faced that he didn’t want to hear a word about it--he doesn’t really need to be gentle. Rook’s soaked, enough that it’s dripping down his inner thighs, a tickling sensation that makes him shiver every so often.

Or maybe that’s the press of John’s fingers, careful and experienced, splitting him open until the world tips around him. Joseph is a balancing point, under Rook, hips contained between Rook’s knees and hands on his waist. Holding him steady and _still_ for whatever John’s planning. 

He knew Joseph wasn’t just here to watch. Joseph was here to temper, to contain. John doesn’t listen to anyone but Joseph and both of them know it. Have known it.

A safeguard. Rook doesn’t know whether he’s flattered Joseph thought to try and protect him or viciously angry that Joseph hasn’t protected so many others. 

“Can I--” It amuses Rook that John thinks to ask about this when he takes so much without asking. “Are you-- _Rook_.”

“Yeah, yeah, just,” Rook sighs when that’s enough for John, the heavy press of a cock inside something familiar amongst all the changes in his life. “Fuck. You’re--okay. Fuck.”

“I’m flattered.” John purrs against his shoulder blade, but there’s a breathy note in his voice. “Relax. I’m not here to hurt you.”

He tries. Tries to spread his knees further apart, nails catching and digging into the bare skin of Joseph’s chest. Tries to center himself and lose himself to the sensation but it’s difficult. John _makes_ it difficult. Keeping to a slow rhythm for all of a moment before slamming inside so harshly Rook jerks, a whine catching in his throat.

But it feels good. Doesn’t hurt, even if there’s a distant sort of ache that’s familiar to him. John’s hands slide up his back, over his biceps, down until they bump into where Joseph’s still holding onto him. Joseph moves, then, one hand disappearing, flesh covered by John’s palm the second he’s left it bare. 

Rook shivers, breath catching in his throat when gentle questing fingers brush where John’s deep inside. Circle the wet stretch of his hole. 

“I can’t--I’ve never--”

“We will take care of you.” There’s something so _even_ in Joseph’s tone, belief in his words even if Rook still has doubt. “We won’t hurt you, Rook. You needn’t be so worried.”

“Pretty sure this is good call to be worried.” Rook flinches, jerks when Joseph’s fingers become more pointed, searching. 

John’s gone still behind him, breath a frantic wash of pants over his spine, hands flexing on his skin. Wound just as tightly as Rook is as they both wait to see what comes next. 

The first finger pulls a groan from his chest, guttural and almost wounded, immediately hushed by Joseph’s soft tone. Rook’s thighs flex, trying to scramble away, and his hands anchor onto Joseph’s shoulders, nails biting deep. He lifts his head, forces himself to try and meet Joseph’s steady gaze, but they slip closed when another finger slides in, too fast, too much.

“I can’t--”

“You can.” John sounds dreamy, like he’s half asleep, hips rolling forwards in little motions. “You are _made_ for this, made for us. To loose the seals and bring about the end. And the beginning.”

“I’m pretty sure,” Rook has to clear his throat, shake his head, when Joseph cautiously stretches just as John thrusts inside. “Pretty sure this wasn’t in the Bible.”

“Do not be afraid.” Joseph has something close to a smirk on his face. “Come and see what awaits if only you have faith.”

“I will kill you.” 

Neither brother seems particularly bothered by his words, probably because they’re broken and panted out. John almost seems _amused_ , a gust of breath that could be seen as a laugh. Joseph removes his fingers slowly, dragging them free until it’s just John inside him and Rook feels distantly like it’s not enough.

It’s enough. John is moving, a bit less cautious, hard enough that Rook uses his grip on Joseph to brace and not to punish. 

But it’s not _enough_.

“Fuck. What did you do to me?” Rook grits out as John angles just right, sparks climbing up his spine. 

“You’re _ours_.” He can _feel_ the way John’s smiling against his skin. “You’re just realizing it finally.”

“It’s not going to work.” Rook shoves at Joseph’s shoulders when John stops and there’s the barest press of something far thicker than a couple of fingers. “It’s not--you won’t _fit_.”

“Be of ease--”

“No, fuck that.” Rook balls a hand, striking against Joseph’s shoulder. “It’s not going to _work_. You’re gonna split me apart.”

“That’s the _point_.” John’s fangs are back in full force, words a biting snarl. “We’re going to crack you open and expose all of the sins inside you. Only then can you reach Atonement. Only then can you truly be cleansed.”

Rook wants to respond, make some cracking joke about being cleansed by getting filthy, but it doesn’t work. His throat refuses to form anything more than a keening sort of whimper as Joseph presses up and _ininin_. He’s sloppy when he moves, trying to escape and trying to get more and not actually sure which he wants. 

Joseph catches his cheek, pulls him in so he can tip their foreheads together as Rook starts to shake. John’s sloppier with him comfort but he’s petting against Rook’s side, from ribs to the top of his thigh and back and forth like he’s some startled lapdog. It’s too much. 

Rook can’t even manage a curse by the time Joseph’s inside, not quite down to the base because his body refuses, clamping down tight against the stretch and only make it _worse_. He can feel every single inch, it seems, could probably tell the difference between the thickness of Joseph and the length of John in the dark. They’re blissfully still, letting him adjust, but Rook doesn’t think he’ll _ever_ adjust to this.

“You’re going to fucking kill me.”

“Perhaps.” Joseph seems excited by the prospect, eyes glittering behind the lens. “And we will birth you anew. A different you. A _better_ you.”

“Not sexy.” Rook grits out just as John moves and whatever he was going to say next is lost to a yelp. “John!”

“Yes,” John whispers, “yes, say my name. I want you to _know_ who made you feel this way. Who welcomed you to a whole new world.”

He doesn’t stop moving and Rook can’t respond. Can barely breathe. Joseph isn’t moving near as much, small rolls of his hips as his eyes flutter and almost drift closed before snapping open. Like he doesn’t want to miss a single second of this. John makes up for it, uncontrolled and animal harsh thrusts of his hips. 

He’s not in control. He doesn’t have control of himself right now and Rook is, for the first time, glad for Joseph’s presence. There’s no telling what John would do to him if it was just them. 

Rook reaches back with a shaky hand, head spinning as he lifts it away from Joseph’s, turning until he can catch the sight of John’s black hair. His fingers barely brush the strands before John’s head snaps up, pupils blown wide, mouth slack. His cock sinks _deeper_ as he leans forward, impossibly so, and Rook catches his mouth in a kiss. 

It’s sloppy, uncoordinated, at the wrong angle but still so fucking right it makes Rook shiver. John’s panting against his mouth, stealing the air from his lungs with every move of his hips, and Joseph’s gripping onto his shoulder and hip so hard the bones feel like they’re bending underneath his fingers. 

The edge is rushing up to meet him, so quick and silent that Rook almost doesn’t notice it. But he can’t _not_ notice. 

“Make me come.” His first demand and Rook’s proud of the way his voice only shakes the barest bit. “Make me new. C’mon, John. I want it.”

He doesn’t let John ask. Doesn’t let a question come because he knows the response John wants. Ruins it by tugging harder, pulling John in until he can steal any words with his tongue. A hand slips between him and Joseph and Rook doesn’t know who it belongs to but it doesn’t _matter_.

It takes a quick pump, maybe two, and he’s coming, the world going white and then black. Rook groans against John’s mouth, feeling the thrusts get incrementally more violent for a split second. And then John’s slumping against his back, chest pumping against him, yanked away from Rook’s mouth to pant “yes” against his skin. 

Rook’s so thrown it takes him a moment to remember it wasn’t just them. So dazed from what is, quite possibly, the best orgasm of his life to remember that Joseph’s there too. Silent under him but strained, teeth grinding together, flushed and pale in equal measure. Rook pats at his shoulders, overstimulated as Joseph’s hips flex like he can’t help it. 

“S’okay,” he slurs, head dropping to Joseph’s throat, nuzzling there. “Just--yeah. It’s okay.”

John doesn’t pull out and it’s sloppy wet, lewd and loud. Joseph doesn’t thrust as hard, not nearly as violent, but he doesn’t need to. He’s wound up just as much as they are and the extra lube makes everything slick and wet in ways that push back the ache that’ll eventually make walking a nightmare. It doesn’t take him long to come and Rook nearly misses it, as subtle as it is. Joseph’s eyes finally drift closed as he presses up tight, dragging Rook down as much as the position allows, and there’s the softest of groans.

His head comes forward, resting against Rook’s chest, as they all try to find their bearings in the aftermath. It’s new and it’s strange and Rook is going to regret this the second they all disentangle from one another.

But for now...much as he hates to admit it...he feels good. Feels new. It’s probably just the fact that he ended his dry spell in the best possible way. 

At least, that’s what he’s going to tell himself. The only other option is...something to consider at another time. A better time. 

Once he’s alone and far, far from the too certain touches and beliefs of Joseph and John.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out all the Kinktober fics so far in a neat little post [here on my Tumblr!](http://momomomma2.tumblr.com/post/178633371556/happy-kinktober)


End file.
